It was a hot slipstitch day,

The swallows ran invisible thread across the sky

And farmers unpicked lines of wheat

In woven fields that stretched to 

Plump cushioned trees -

Where we lay together against dew dangled threads,

Gazing at the eye of the needle -

So distant, so warm;

Whose gentle rays pulled the grass

Til it was hedgerow high.

Then we touched: ...

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